


Timeless

by oxiosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: He must be becoming a really old man, Luciano thinks, as tears pool in his eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclamer; the characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández.  
> Brazil: Luciano Da Silva.

When you are Luciano's age, there are things you give up on. That’s just life for you, and there are things time makes you kiss goodbye, like losing the couple of extra pounds that don’t seem to want to go away no matter how many diets you start nor how much exercise you do, or growing some hair on that bald spot that only grows wider with every passing year, or waking up a humid day without aching bones and swollen joints, or having someone to love and share what’s left of your life with...

It’s not like Luciano is complaining; he is not a young man anymore, and some things are bound to happen. He has a good life all in all; he’s a healthy man, he has a little yet nice house, a spoiled fat dog, and a nice job to keep him occupied since he’s technically retired. It’s not much of a pay, but while not unwelcomed, he’s not doing it for the money. Luciano actually enjoys his job, enjoys going out and talking and meeting people. It’s better than staying home like some grumpy old man, for sure.

Luciano works for a little football school. It’s not much, honestly, barely a couple of hours per day, but it’s perfect for a man his age and anyways it’s enough to entertain him. He enjoys spending time outdoors, enjoys breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on his skin, enjoys even more being on a football pitch even if he’s not the one technically playing.

This year, he’s been assigned the group of eight year old girls, which, while new, is ok. He has trained girls before - if older - and kids are always fun, so he takes the challenge with a smile, and so, this is how Luciano finds himself surrounded by a bunch of eight year-old girls screaming and kicking after a ball three times a week.

“Ok, everyone!” he calls and blows the whistle hanging around his neck. “That’s all for today! Good practice, girls!”

Luciano watches with fondness as the girls wave him goodbye and run for the wooden bleachers by the side of the field, where their parents wait for them. He crouches and starts picking up the little colourful cones spread through the field, and doesn’t realize someone has come to him until they speak up.

"Nice work, coach."

A smile spreads across Luciano's face. He straightens up with a little grunt, and turns around.

" _Fernandinha_ ,” he greets.

Fernanda smiles at him, all bright dark eyes and curly black hair.

Luciano knows Fernanda since she was a little girl. They had lived in the same old building for many years, until Luciano moved away to his parent's little house after his mother passed away. Fate had reunited them again when Fernanda joined the senior football team Luciano had been coaching at the moment, and once again now that Luciano happened to coach her daughter Camila, whose energy and talent with the ball matches her mother’s.

"Camila did great today,” he praises. “She’s getting better and better..."

"She gets that from her father's side," a voice chips in.

It’s an elder man Luciano hasn’t seen around before but that Fernanda seems to know, by the way she smiles warmly at him as he makes his way towards them. He is about Luciano’s age, tall and lean - Luciano, who has a small yet undeniable beerbelly himself, is a little too generous with the term. His hair is mostly grey, but there are hints of golden here and there that back in his days might had been a dark blond. He has bright green eyes that seem unaware that age has stripped him away from his youth, and over his slightly crooked nose rest a pair of thin silver glasses. He is quite pleasing to look at, if Luciano can say so.

"Rodrigo is _not_ a good football player," Fernanda tells him with an amused huff.

"I wasn't talking about Rodrigo," the man replies, smirking proudly back at her and Fernanda laughs.

His voice is deep, if a little raspy, his Portuguese a little broken, carrying a heavy accent. Luciano doesn't need to ask to know he's not from around here.

"Coach, this is my father-in-law," Fernanda introduces. "Camila's grandfather.”

“Martín,” he introduces himself and offers his hand.

“Luciano, Camila’s coach,” Luciano shakes his hand with a smile. “And Fernanda’s former coach, so I wouldn't be so sure about Camila’s skills’ source if I were you. Fernanda here used to be a hell of a player. The best one I’ve ever coached I’d dare say."  
  
"You haven't seen _me_ play," Martín points.

"You play?" Luciano asks, because this man is his age, and Luciano knows first hand that time is not gentle with joints and bones.

"I think I still can hold myself,” Martín smirks at him, not quite unpleasantly.

There’s a challenge there, Luciano can almost taste it. He smiles, can’t help the smirk spreading through his lips at it, because he’s never been one to really back away from a challenge, _especially_ one involving football. Martín’s smile only grows wider.

At their side, Fernanda hums appreciatively to herself.

"You know, coach..." she says thoughtfully. "Martín just moved to town, _alone_. He doesn't know anybody here, and Rodrigo and I are way too busy with the kids to show him around... maybe you could do it?"

Both Luciano and Martín turn to her in surprise, and Fernanda pulls her best innocent eyes at them.

“Me?” Luciano asks with wide eyes.

“Sounds nice,” Martín blinks the surprise away from his face and tries to hold back a sly smirk that Luciano doesn’t miss _at all._

Luciano is grateful for his dark skin, for he is sure otherwise he would have turned beet red.

Too stunned to give a proper answer, he says he doesn’t know if he’d have time, that he’ll think about it, and that he should really be going, so much to do right now, picking up the balls and cones the girls have left lying around the field, so maybe he’ll see them next practice?

He leaves, and doesn’t look back at Martín or Fernanda, suddenly a little too flustered.

 

 

Next practice, Martín is the one to bring Camila.

He sits by the side of the field, in the small wooden bleachers all the parents squash into while they watch their children run after the ball, this time with a two-year-old girl sitting on his lap quietly playing with his hands as they watch Camila’s practice. Luciano blushes at the sight of him, and can’t help but shoot glances to the bleachers every now and then. When Martín catches his eye, he smiles and gives a little wave and Luciano _literally_ yelps and looks away as his face burns.

When the practice is over and the field is mostly empty, Martín comes to him, the small girl in his arms.

"You really know your stuff, coach," Martín grins at him.

Luciano chuckles coyly and feels his face warm up.

"Thanks. I try," he says, before his eyes dart to the small girl on Martín's arms. "And who's this?"

"Say hello, Isadora," Martín coos at her.

Isadora looks at Luciano with huge green eyes, just like her grandfather’s. She cuddles closer to Martín as she shyly mutters a small 'hi' with a hand in her mouth.

"Hi, beautiful," Luciano smiles at her. "Came to see your big sister play? Looking forward to joining the team?"

Isadora clings to her grandfather, a pout spreading across her face. It seems the exchange is a little more than she bargained for, and she crabbily hides her face on Martíns neck.

"She's not that much of a football fan," Martín answers for her, a gentle hand smoothing dark curls. "Yet."

Luciano laughs, unfazed. He has enough practice with kids to know how they are and not to take them too seriously.

"Fernanda?" he asks, because he hadn’t seen her today.

"She had a medical appointment.”

"Nothing serious hopefully?" Luciano asks with honest worry.

"She was feeling a little sick," Martín replies with a shrug.

Luciano can't help frowning a little suspicious; that Fernanda has always been a smart one, always knowing when to fake a dive in the pitch.

“Hope she gets better,” Luciano mutters.

“I’ll let her know,” Martín promises.

" _Abuelo!”_ Camila calls as she runs to them from the other side of the field, dragging her purple backpack behind herself. “I’m ready!”

She stands by Martín’s side, and asks if he had seen her score, and beams proudly when he says he had and when he praises her about how well she’s been playing. Her attention then goes to little Isadora, and she gently pinches her sister’s little chubby leg while cooing at her. Isadora frowns at her with a grumpy huff and tries to kick her hand away, only to have Camila giggling and pinching her further.

Martín laughs and ruffles her hair, but lets them be, and then turns to Luciano.

"You know, I promised the kids to go grab something to eat after practice… Would you like to joins us for some coffee?" Martín offers with a charming smile that almost stops Luciano’s heart. Then he looks down at his girls. "Or maybe some ice-cream?"

"Ice-cream!" Camila cheers delighted.

Something hot creeps up Luciano’s throat, and suddenly he’s not sure what to say or do.

"I'd love to," he tries to smile back at Martín, but he’s not sure he quite manages. "But I'm a little busy right now, you see, there’s some stuff I need to get done..."

"Of course..." Martín relents, and Luciano almost grimace with the quiet disappointment his eyes can’t quite hide. "Come on, girls, let's go pick your brothers up. Now, say goodbye to coach Luciano."

"Bye, coach!" Camila takes her grandfather’s hand and waves happily at Luciano as Isadora simply stares at him from her grandfather's shoulder.

Luciano watches them leave with a sinking heart.

 _Idiot_ , he curses angrily at himself _._ What was he thinking? He should have agreed. Should have smiled and taken the offer, God knows he wanted to. He _really_ would have loved to join Martín, to sit together and chat and get to know a little bit more one about the other, but…

But there’s really nothing holding him back if he has to be honest with himself, really.

"But maybe some other time?" he calls for them, uncertainty dancing on his voice and face.

Martín turns around, and the crooked smile he gives him takes Luciano's breath away.

"I'll take your word," he says, and then he’s gone with the girls.

Luciano stands in the middle of the field, alone. He takes a deep breath, and sighs feeling his whole face on fire.

Honestly, he has no idea what he's doing.

 

 

Martín suddenly becomes a constant in Luciano's practices.

He sits by the bleachers and watches with the rest of the parents, and when the practice is over, he comes to Luciano, and talks and laughs with him, and Luciano’s skin burns and his heart flutters in a ridiculous way. When it’s time to leave, Martín waves him goodbye with a playful smirk and the promise to be back next practice, and Luciano is utterly _helpless_ to those eyes and that smile.

Martín is flirting with him - _he is flirting with him for God’s sake_ -, and after having quit romance so many years ago, Luciano’s a mess.

"He loves movies. Suspense and drama are his favourites," Fernanda insinuates next time she comes to Camila’s practice instead of Martín. "Oh, also chick-flicks, but he won't admit he fancies those..."

Luciano is sure he’s blushing so hard she might feel the warm coming from his skin.

"What are you up to, _Fernandinha_?" he asks.

Fernanda gives him a wide shameless smile in return.

"I'm giving you a hand," she answers, and has the nerve to flash him a wink. "Just go for it, coach."

 

 

It takes Luciano a couple of weeks to get courage to invite Martín out.

It's not that he doesn't want to - he _does_ -, he's just a little rusty in this whole department.

He calls at the number Martín gave him with a smile and a wink, and feels like some nervous teen asking his crush out as he waits for Martín to pick up the phone. He's about to hang up when a high-pitched childish voice answers. Before Luciano can even speak, he hears noise from the other side and then Martín's voice.

He sounds surprised that Luciano has called him - which Luciano is almost sure _can’t_ be a good thing. But then he sounds pleased, honestly glad to be talking to him. Luciano lets out a quiet sigh in relief, and can’t help to smile a little more confident.

“I was thinking,” he says. “About that coffee I owe you.”

“I was wondering if you had forgotten about it,” Martín says and Luciano can hear the smile on his voice.

So they set day and place, and Luciano just got himself a date.

If he has to be honest with himself, he is a little nervous.

Luciano has always loved dates. Has always loved meeting new people, has always loved talking and flirting, and has always been rather good at it if he can say so himself. But it’s been long since his last date… and he likes Martín. He really likes him, and it’s far beyond obvious Martín likes him too, and as little sense as it might have, that’s exactly the reason there’s a tight seriousness knotting Luciano’s stomach. He really doesn’t want to screw this up.

Luciano is a grown man. He's past silly childish crushes; it's been years from those. But he can feel his face burn and his heart drum in his chest when Martín shows up to their date with a bouquet of flowers.

"Too much for a first date?" Martín asks with a coy chuckle when Luciano can’t take his eyes off of it.

Luciano can feel warmth creeping to his cheek, and lets out a slightly nervous laugh. He shakes his head no.

"Just a little old-school, I believe" he teases, and takes the bouquet with gentle hands.

"I'm a classy guy," Martín replies and to prove his point offers his arm to Luciano.

Luciano laughs at him again, and doesn't fall for it. He gives Martín an unimpressed playful glance, as walks past him. Martín follows unfazed, looking actually rather pleased with the chase.

"No one has ever given me flowers before," Luciano admits quietly.

"No one has ever given me flowers before either," Martín replies with a light shrug like it's no big deal.

Luciano can’t help to frown and purse his lips. That doesn’t sound right at all. So he takes a flower from the bouquet - big and bright and so red and yellow and orange - and gently pins it to the lapel of Martín's coat.

"There," he says. “Now we can both say we have been given flowers.”

"Now we match," Martín adds, and beams when Luciano laughs again.

Since Martín barely knows town, Luciano leads the way. He takes him to a nice café, a new shop placed just on the other side of the street of the park Luciano usually walks his dog by. It’s not the café he usually visits, but he wants to take Martín somewhere nice, and truth be told he doesn’t feel like taking a date somewhere as personal as the little coffee shop he frequents. The place is a little expensive for Luciano’s taste, but he guesses it’s not that bad; the decor is nice, the coffee is actually rather good, and since they sit by a window, the view to the park is lovely. When he looks at Martín sitting across of him, he decides the company is worth the bill.

In just a couple of hours, Luciano learns a lot about Martín. He’s from Argentina - not from Buenos Aires though, Martín tells him with a roll of his eyes when Luciano asks about the city. He used to be a surgeon, many years ago, before his passion for teaching leaded him to exchange the operating theatre for a university classroom. Now, he has retired and has moved to his son’s house here in Brazil until he finds an apartment somewhere in town.

"So that's why you're here, isn't it?" Luciano asks. "That's why you left home, you followed your family?"

"If the mountain won't come to Muhammad..." Martín sighs defeated, but a small smile curves his lips. "They were raising my grandchildren away from me, those inconsiderate brats."

"Really rude of them," Luciano teases, and Martín laughs.

Luciano also learns that Martín has a daughter and another son beside Fernanda’s husband, all three of them spread around the globe.

“Victoria left to England for 'a year of studying abroad' when she was 19. She never came back. Made her life over there; found a job and a place to live, married some idiot Brit. She doesn't call me often, but she does keep in touch with her brothers," Martín tells him with a grimace. "Pablo is traveling around the world in a 'self-discovery' trip. So he's been for the last six years. He just phoned me last week, he was somewhere in Panamá. I don't know in which country he is right now. Knowing him, I'm not sure he knows himself. And well, you've already met Rodrigo and the kids."

Rodrigo, the Benjamin. The one that fell in love with a Brazilian girl and followed her to her homeland to start a family. Fernanda's husband and the father of her four children. Luciano has seen him a couple of times during Camila’s football practice; a tall lanky man with dark auburn hair, brown warm eyes and an easy smile.

Martín doesn’t mention the mother of his children, and he doesn’t have to. Fernanda already warned Luciano to spare him the awkwardness; Martín is a widower. He had been married for twenty five years and had lost his wife eighteen years ago. He’s been on his own since then.

"How about you?” Martín asks. “Fernanda told me you're divorced?"

Luciano keeps his smile from faltering.

"Yes," he answers. "My ex-wife and I rushed into marriage, and well... it didn't quite work out."

It only lasted two years and a half; the relationship had died long before that. But it's not something Luciano will bring up on a first date. Martín doesn't need to know that he has been jumping in and out of disastrous relationships for most of his life.

"And do you have children?" Martín asks.

"Yes, a daughter. Rafaela," Luciano replies, but she is not something he wants to talk about either, so he changes subjects. "I have a dog too, a stray I found by my house's door one rainy morning."

And luck seems to be on his side, because that’s enough to get Martín's attention; Martín’s a dog lover, and tells him about all the dogs he had during his life, starting with the Border Collie pup his father got him when he was nine to the old Mastiff he had to leave back in Argentina.

 

 

Martín is nothing like anyone Luciano has ever dated before.

And Luciano had dated many _many_ girls in his time.

He had married very young and had had a short marriage, and then he had been free to do as he pleased - or as the world saw fit for a young bachelor to do. So he had got himself girl after girl, always jumping from one relationship to another, never really settling for anyone. He had smiled and flirted and when things had started to take a serious road, he had left and jumped back to the hunt for another companion.

It wasn’t that he had been heartless or vile when young; he had enjoyed all the girls’ he had dated companies. The jokes and the laughter and the fun had been genuine. He had liked them, for real, all of them in their own way. He had cared for them all, just not in the way they had wished he had - had wished he could.

Luciano had kissed thousands of girls when he was young, and had kissed one man, what seems a lifetime ago.

He thinks he did, at least. He had been too drunk to actually remember, but he's quite sure he did. He must have, he thinks, considering he does remember giving the guy a blowjob in a nightclub’s parking lot and then taking him home, so he guesses making out was part of the whole process that led them both to his bed. The whole night is a blurry mess in Luciano’s mind, but even now after all these years, he remembers how true, how _free,_ he felt. He also remembers, with scorching guilt and shame, how he woke up the next morning and kicked the man out of his house in an outburst of panic and anger. He had rushed to church made a complete mess, later had gotten piss drunk and had taken the first girl that had smiled at him to bed to prove himself that man had been a one night mistake.

Nowadays, it’s easy for Luciano to realize where he had been wrong. It had taken him years to come to terms with why he had never really fallen for any of the girls he had dated. Luciano looks back at his younger self with sadness; he had been a poor blind fool. It had been unfair of him to drag all those girls to his unhappy search, yes, just like the times he had been born had been unfair with him.

Luciano closes his eyes, and tries to leave the past behind. He had been wrong, so dreadfully wrong, and had suffered the consequences for years of unhappiness and loneliness and guilt and self-loathing. So he buries his face on Martín’s neck and looks for shelter in his arms. Martín takes his hand and smiles at him, so true and warm and _right_ , and Luciano feels the sharp pain in his heart slowly and carefully easing away.

Luciano has kissed thousands of girls and has kissed one man in his lifetime, yes. But when Martín finally kisses him - on their fourth date, he leans forward and presses a gentle chaste kiss to Luciano’s lips -, it feels like the first time.

 

 

Luciano lives in a small house outside the city with his dog, a round fat stray of yellow fur he named Batata.

The house where his mother was born and raised, where she moved in with her husband to start a family. The house where she lived her whole life until her last days, the house Luciano moved back in after she passed away. The house where he was born and raised and where he was sure he would die, just like his mother did.

It's a small old thing – the house had belonged to Luciano's grandmother, so it is _at least_ twice Luciano's age – but it is home to Luciano. The rooms are a little too small, the corridors a little too narrow, the roofs a little too high, and it barely has windows. Luciano can't say he minds; the house is small enough to keep warm in winter, and always seems to be fresh in summer. Anyways, it’s the house’s little garden that matters to Luciano the most.

His mother’s little secret garden.

Even now, Luciano can still picture her there, kneeling on the dirt patiently taking care of her plants. Whenever Luciano misbehaved as a child, she sat him by her side and he had to silently watch as she looked after her garden, bored like any kid forced to stay still and quiet would be. In his teen years, whenever Luciano had a problem he had been the one to voluntarily kneel by her side, two pair of tan hands working together as he talked and she listened, as she showed and he learnt. Years later, it had been the only way Luciano had found to bond with her after her mind got too old and too sick to recognise reality, after Luciano's words stopped reaching her. When she died, it had been the only thing that had made Luciano feel close to her again. And so, without even realizing it, he turned into his mother’s garden's new caretaker.

It is Luciano's secret spot, hidden away from the whole wide world. It’s where he feels at ease, where he feels safe. It’s the place he thinks of when he closes his eyes and thinks of home.

That's the reason - that while inviting the man you've been dating for a couple of months now over to your house to chat and have some drinks outside seems like such a normal thing to do - it's a very big deal for Luciano the first time he brings Martín to his little garden.

He can feel the air sinking on his lungs, as he lets Martín in.

Of course, Martín doesn't recognise the magnitude of the event. He sits on one of Luciano's old iron garden chairs with a glass of juice, and pets Batata when the dog lays his head on his thigh. Luciano can almost feel his heart melt at the sight; Martín seems to belong right there in his little garden, surrounded by his plants and memories, and it makes him wonder why he worried about it to begin with, how he ever doubted Martín was meant to blend in. It’s so much, it almost hurts.

"Some place you've got here," Martín points amazed.

Luciano can feel his cheeks warm slightly up – it's still a wonder to him how Martín manages to make him blush, when Luciano thought he had forgotten how to do so many years ago.

"It's certainly missing a _parrilla_ , thought," Martín points out.

"Oh, you had to ruin it for me, didn't you?" Luciano says, but he's smiling and there's laughter in his voice.

They sit outside, and talk until the sun is down and the stars and crickets come out.

Luciano has never felt so certain this is what happiness must feel like before.

  


 

“I’m so sorry,” Martín smiles apologetically at Luciano as his grandchildren run past him and into his house when Luciano opens the front door.

Luciano laughs, and leans forward to kiss him and drag him inside and out of the heavy rain pouring from the sky.

Today, they have babysitting duty. They were supposed to go out, but then Fernanda asked Martín if he could look after the kids since she had a medical appointment to check on the new baby she’s been carrying in her belly for the last four months now - which makes it the fifth kid and Luciano wonders _when_ those two will stop having kids.

"He's going to be an Argentina fan, I can feel it in my bones," Martín had said with bright eager eyes, and had already bought the unborn child a little white and light-blue jersey with a big 10 on the back.

Luciano suggested for Martín and the kids to come over, just to spice the day a little bit. And so they did, and now Luciano’s house is full of screaming laughing children. He’s a little startled by the chaos, if he has to be honest.

“Already regretting this?” Martín asks.

“If you can put up with these terrors, so can I,” Luciano responds tilting his chin up bravely.

Fernanda and Rodrigo have two daughters and two sons. Luciano already knows the former; he’s been coaching eight-year old Camila for the last months, and he has already met two-year old Isadora. It’s seven-year old Diogo and five-year old Thiago whom Luciano hadn’t met until now. He recognises a lot of Fernanda in Diogo, loud and confident and perhaps a little obnoxious too, a true force of nature always measuring himself with his older sister, unwilling to stay behind at anything. Thiago, on the other hand, doesn’t speak much, weird trait in a small child and that one would think as a blessing _except_ the boy is silent _and_ mischievously naughty, an awfully inconvenient combination.

“ _Always_ keep an eye on Thiago,” Martín warns so severely it actually leaves Luciano a little scared of the serious quiet child staring at him with round dark eyes.

Luciano is no stranger to kids. He _works_ with children, and he has two grandchildren himself; _half_ the amount wrecking his house right now, but then that means that he’s at least _half_ prepared to face this challenge, and anyways Martín is there by his side, so this can’t possibly be that bad.

It turns out it’s not. Luciano has toys and games he used to play with his grandchildren to keep the kids entertained, and he has a couple of kids’ movies too. It doesn’t matter though; Isadora made sure to bring her favourite Disney movie with herself in case Luciano didn’t have it - which he didn’t. So the kids have something to entertain themselves; Isadora sticks to Martín with a doll tightly grasped in her arms, refusing to come down from his arms and glaring at Luciano - which Martín assures him is completely normal, that’s just little Isadora for you -, Thiago sits by Luciano’s coffee table with a colouring book and some crayons and Camila and Diogo kneel on the floor playing with some robot toys in what seems to be an epic battle between good and evil. Thiago only disappears from their sight once, and they find him in the bathroom, emptying Luciano’s toothpaste and toilet paper on the bathtub for no good reason other than the thrill of it.

“It could have been worse,” Martín sounds so honestly unimpressed that Luciano decides he is officially freaked out by the boy that quietly and tamely lets Martín wash with a wet towel the toothpaste from his hands and shirt.

No more incidents happen after that, until nap time comes. Thiago and Isadora fall asleep almost instantly, and don’t even stir when they carry them to Luciano’s bed, but Camila and Diogo are a little harder to settle, claiming they are too old for naps.

“Fine. You can stay awake with the adults,” Martín relents while giving Luciano a knowing smile.

And so the four of them and Batata sit together in the couch, and Martín channels the news. It takes ten minutes of silently watching the weather woman talking about rain and rain and _more rain_ for Camila, Diogo and Batata to finally fall asleep. Luciano and Martín quietly withdraw to the kitchen; they don’t risk picking and waking them up.

Now, they finally have some quiet time alone. Martín sits by the table as Luciano prepares some coffee.

"Is this your daughter?" Martín asks after a silent moment.

Luciano turns to find him staring at a photo of a serious woman hanging on the wall just beside the table.

"Yes, that's my Rafaela," he can’t help the smile curving his lips.

Luciano's only child, and his pride. Determined and dedicated, temperamental Rafaela works in one of Brazil's greatest companies, fruit of a lifetime's hard work. She lives with her husband Murilo, a tall serious man with ebony skin with whom she has been together for 25 years straight now, the father of her two children.

"She looks just like you," Martín says and stares at the picture with fondness.

Luciano laughs, and it sounds a little tight.

“Don't let her hear you say that, if you value your life," he warns as he sits and slides a steamy mug towards Martín’s direction.

"Complicated relationship, uh?" Martín huffs sympathetically as he curls his fingers around the warm cup. "And these I guess are your grandchildren?”

Martín gestures with a nod of his head towards the picture of two children; a young girl with curly black hair pulled in a messy ponytail hugging a smaller boy of sparkling brown eyes, both of them flashing bright wide smiles at the camera.

“Yes,” Luciano says. “Amélia and João.”

Amélia is seventeen, a year from graduating from High School. She reminds Luciano of Rafaela when she was young; she's just as mature and strong-willed, even if Amélia has a tenderness and sweetness his stern sharp Rafaela has always lacked.

João is about to turn thirteen, and he's the kindest funniest boy Luciano has ever met. He loves football as much as any boy his age, and has a slight obsession with comic book superheroes. He wants to be a firefighter when he grows up so - in his words - he can help people out.

Just like their mother, both of them fill Luciano’s heart with love and pride.

“When am I meeting them?” Martín asks.

Luciano is not stupid enough to think it wouldn’t come a day Martín got to meet his family - he even admits he might have dreamt about it like the hopeless fool in love Martín has turned him into - but the thought brings a small worried frown to Luciano’s brow.

“It’s a bit complicated…” he says.

"All families tend to be."

Luciano shakes his head with a deep tired sigh.

“I was not a particularly good father to Rafaela..." Luciano explains.

"Who is?" Martín gives him a smile, and reaches for his hand, tenderly squeezing his fingers between his and bringing his hand to his lips.

The tender intimate touch bring a light blush to Luciano’s face. He shakes his head, and gives a deep sigh.

"I might have been the kind of father that forgets to pick his daughter up from Dance School, and shows up at parents meetings with a hangover, or sends his daughter directly to the hospital because he forgot she's allergic to strawberries and brings to family meals a different girl every time," he says quietly, feeling older than ever as the mistakes and years of his life weigh down on his shoulders.

Martín blinks at him though his glasses, his eyes round with surprise.

"I was young," Luciano blurts what only feel like excuses away, feeling guilt and shame burning his face. "My ex-wife and I were merely kids when Rafaela was born. We weren't even a proper couple. She liked me, and I guess I liked her, we were just fooling around when... well."

Luciano remains quiet, and so does Martín.

"We were sixteen when she got pregnant. I proposed to her, felt like the right thing to do, you know? We quit school and I got myself a job. I tried looking for a place for us both and the coming baby, but my mother-in-law wouldn't let her come live with me, neither did she let me move in with them, so we were a really weird married couple," Luciano lets out a weak shaky chuckle. "That woman hated me so much for what I had done to her daughter. She came from a nice family and, well, I didn't. I ruined her daughter's chances of marrying a fine wealthy man. She slowly passed that hatred to my ex-wife, and so they did with Rafaela. They both despise me. My ex-wife and Rafaela, I mean. I'm lucky Rafaela is too mature to pass that hatred to her children."

They keep quiet, staring at the table. After a minute of silence, Martín is the one to break the silence;

"One time, when Rodrigo was six I think, I accidently locked him inside my car."

Luciano raises his head, and blinks at Martín.

"We had to break the car's window open to get him out. Other time, I spilled coffee all over Pablo's school project. Blamed that one on the family dog,” Martín continues. “Other time, I took the kids camping, and forgot to pack the boys' underwear. We were in the middle of nowhere, so they had to wear Victoria's panties for a week. She still teases them about it even after all these years."

Luciano blinks at Martín for five solid seconds. Then, he bursts into laughter.

"What? Are- are you _serious_?" he manages to ask between laughs.

Martín smiles fondly at him.

"What I'm trying to say is that nobody's perfect," he says. "You're not the same Luciano from fifty years ago; it would be pointless to torture yourself over past mistakes for the rest of your life. If you keep clinging to old memories, you'll never build a future together."

Luciano sighs to himself. He feels a little better; slightly less old, yet not less tired. It’s somewhat of an improvement, he guesses. He dares meet Martín's eyes.

"Were you always this wise?" he grumbles tiredly.

"Oh, of course not, I was an ass most of my life. It's something that came with the years, I assure you," Martín laughs. He scoots closer, rounds his shrunken shoulders with his arm and brings him closer. "Don't beat yourself up over past mistakes, Luciano. We learn from them."

They lean forward and kiss. And then, Isadora runs into the kitchen and climbs on Martín’s lap crying and screaming; Thiago follows close behind with a devious smile and little gecko hanging from its tail in his hand. Isadora lets out a scream and cuddles closer to her grandfather, and soon Camila y Diogo make it to the kitchen, awakened by all the brawl, and go wild with excitement when they see Thiago’s little gecko.

“Well. So much for peace and quiet,” Martín sighs while smoothing Isadora’s hair, and Luciano chuckles while shaking his head.

 

 

Martín likes big noisy parties, so Luciano is not half surprised when he announces that he wants to celebrate their anniversary as a couple with a family dinner.

"We've only been together for five months, Martín," Luciano points out.

"The best five months of your life," Martín replies proudly. "That's worth celebrating, Luciano."

Luciano rolls his eyes and a smile spreads across his lips. Arguing with Martín would be pointless, and he does enjoy parties. Besides, this time Martín is right; those last five month really are something worth celebrating in Luciano's life.

"We should tell Rafaela to come over too," Martín suggests. “The more, the merrier."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Martín..." Luciano sighs and looks away.

"Why not?" Martín insists. "Come on, Luciano. You can’t keep her away forever.”

Luciano is not convinced, but ends up calling Rafaela anyways. He does want her there, so it’s worth the try, even if he’s sure Rafaela won't accept the invitation. He is surprised when after a quiet moment on the other side of the line she does.

So he’s a little stunned and disoriented when the time comes and he finds his house filled with Martín’s family and his own.

Rodrigo brings to Luciano’s house a portable barbecue grill he’s got in his place - because Martín insisted in making an _asado_ in Luciano’s place even if he doesn’t own a damn _parrilla_ , and arguing with Martín honestly _is_ pointless. Rodrigo and Martín settle themselves by the grill and look after the meat with two glasses of wine in hand while Luciano, Fernanda and Rafaela take care of the vegetables. Luciano decides to let them be; who gets them Argentines and their obsession over meat anyways.

While the adults cook, the kids run around the garden; João plays football with Camila, Diogo, and Thiago, the last one a little too young to keep up with the older children, so he just runs behind them with poor old Batata trailing after him. Isadora stays under Amélia's care, contemptuously watching her siblings run and scream around like savages while sitting on Amélia's lap like some queen, letting the older girl braid her hair and sing to her with the love and sweetness of a mother.

"I must say," Luciano confesses as he slides some tomatoes in the kitchen, watching the scene taking place in the garden through the window. "I thought João and Amélia would get bored among such young kids. No offense, Fernanda."

"None taken," Fernanda replies at his left as she cleans some vegetables, her belly round and big with her fifth child in the way. "I'm a little surprised myself too."

"João is still young enough to play around kids, even if he likes to think of himself as an adult. And Amélia loves little children," Rafaela says quietly as she slides some potatoes.

“She wants to be a kindergarten teacher," Luciano adds, and Rafaela gives him a little surprised glance from the corner of her eyes.

"Well, well, it seems I just found myself a babysitter," Fernanda smirks.

"Don't let her hear you say that," Rafaela says, and smiles - it's that small guarded smirk that always crosses her lips whenever she talks about her children. "She'll take your word, and you'll have her over your house everyday after school."

"God knows I wouldn't mind that," Fernanda laughs.

Martín comes inside, looking for something to drink. He gives them a sidelong glance, and hums thoughtfully to himself.

"Fernanda, why don't you come outside with me and take care of the children?" Martín places a hand on her shoulder, and gently escorts her out of the kitchen. "It must be tiring to be carrying that baby all day and night."

"Oh, this is nothing," she laughed. "You should have seen me when I was pregnant with Diogo. Now that was some heavy lifting."

"I'm sure Luciano can help Rafaela with the salads," Martín insists.

Luciano is not stupid not to realise what Martín is trying to do. He glares at him, and Martín winks back at him with a big shameless smile as he takes Fernanda away. And then, there’s just Luciano and Rafaela.

They remain in silence for a while. Luciano is not fond of silence.

"We haven't had a meal like this in a long time," he says, almost tentatively.

“Mmmh,” is the only answer he gets from Rafaela.

Luciano has to hold back a deep sigh. Of course.

After a while, Rafaela speaks.

"So, five months, uh?" she asks. "That's gotta be a record. Longest relationship so far. Or does your marriage with mom count?"

There's an undernote there - an ill-intentioned accusation -, and it _hurts_.

"Sometimes it's hard to find the right person," Luciano replies carefully. A peace offer, hopefully.

Rafaela hums to herself again.

"So he's the one?" she asks quietly.

Luciano can feel his cheeks warm up, and makes a point on avoiding looking up through the window to Martín direction.

"Well, it's hard to know..." he answers. “But Martín… he makes me happy."

Rafaela remains quiet, deep in thoughts. Luciano almost wants to ask her what's in her mind, but knows better than to press her; he’ll only drive her further away like that. So he is a little surprise when Rafaela speaks again.

"Murilo and I are getting divorced."

Luciano would have never seen that one coming.

"What, why? How-" Luciano cuts himself, and starts again. "I mean, I'm sorry to hear so. You two seemed happy together..."

A perfect match, honestly. Luciano had thought he would never meet anyone suitable for his Rafaela until he met mature serious Murilo. He hadn’t asked why he hadn’t come to their little family dinner, had assumed something had came up.

Rafaela looks down and frowns, pursing her lips.

"We talked about it, and we don't feel the same way for each other," she explains quietly, slowly, as if it’s hard for her to find the words, and Luciano realizes _it is_. "I don't feel the same. And Murilo understands. We'd rather go separate ways..."

"Well, that's really sensible and mature of you two," Luciano says. "I shouldn't be surprised, coming from you.”

He knows this hurts Rafaela deeply; it's one of her deepest fears coming true. His Rafaela has always taken pride in having founded a nice family, an obsession Luciano knows he is to be blamed for; if maybe he had been a better husband and a better father, Rafaela wouldn't have grown punished and haunted by his mistakes.

“Have you told the kids?" he asks.

"Not yet," she answers, and lets a long tired sigh as she puts her knife down and pinches the bridge of her nose. She looks very tired suddenly, nothing like the strong proud figure she always gives off. "But I think Amélia might suspect something... she's being giving us these weird concerned looks for some time now."

"She's always been a smart girl, just like her mother," Luciano replies sweetly. "I'm sure she'll understand."

"I know she will. It's João who scares me," Rafaela says. "He won't take it well, I know it. He'll hold it against us for the rest of his life..."

Luciano doesn't want to admit he will most probably do; his grandson has always been a very sensitive boy, too intense. While he had an easygoingness Rafaela lacked, he had her passion in his heart. He won’t take the news well.

"You can't know that, Rafaela..."

"I know he will. He's my son, I know he will," she says, and her composed façade finally cracks, her face showing how distraught she actually feels. "I know because that's exactly what I did to you all this time."

Luciano is too startled to react. He stares at Rafaela, who looks devastated.

"That's different," he says. "I was a lousy father, I-I deserve this, I don't blame you, Rafaela, I know I should have done better. I-But you, you on the other hand, you adore your children and you would die for them and they know it and you're the most caring mother I've ever seen," he's stuttering, but he needs her to understand, needs her baby girl to see how wonderful and loved she is, and that maybe it seems like the world is coming down now but that everything will be fine in the end. "They will be mad for some time, but they love you, and they'll understand, I know they will-"

She interrupts him with a tight hug. And maybe it's the time, maybe it's the ages that have softened Luciano and have turned him into a melancholic old man, but he can feel his eyes itching and watering as his daughter holds him close for the first time in _decades_. He gently – carefully, almost as if scared the movement would scare her away from him – curls his arms around her, and presses his face to her curly thick hair.

"I'm sorry," Rafaela breathes out. "I'm so sorry, dad."

It aches to hear those words coming from his daughter's lips, to hear the strangled pain in her voice. But it's a good ache; the type of pain of pulling a thorn out, putting a bad bone back in place, or tired muscles after a long day of exercise.

Luciano gently pulls her away and cups her face with both hands as he places a tender kiss on her forehead. He gives her a smile, and smooths Rafaela's tears off her cheeks with his thumbs.

"I love you, sweetheart," he says. "And I know I have failed you in the past, God knows I do, but I promise you I'll always be here for you if you ever need me."

"Thanks..." she sniffles. And then she adds; "I love you too, dad."

Luciano smiles at her, and he can almost feel another knot in his heart go away.

"Ok, now let's get back to work," he said. "These salads won't cook themselves."

They cook in silence, but not an awkward silence. It’s a silence Luciano is content with, one between two people who had already said what they needed to say. Rafaela’s sole presence is enough for him.

"Dad?" she say, almost shyly.

"Mmh?"

"I'm gay."

Luciano almost chops his finger off. Again.

"When? Wh-how? Since when-?"

"Remember how I've never been too interested in boys?" she asks without looking up, and of course Luciano remembers; his little responsible Rafaela had always been too focused on her studies, too busy buried in big heavy books to care about boys. "Well, I guess I was looking at the wrong direction all along."

Luciano stares at her, and it suddenly hits him;

"Have you found someone...?" he asks. "Is that why you're getting divorced?"

Rafaela looks away, like she has been caught in a lie.

"Kind of... I don't want to do anything until I settle things with Murilo,” she admits quietly. “But she’s… I like her. She makes me happy too... I feel she's special, you know?"

A light blush colours Luciano's face, and his eyes instantly dart to Martín.

"Yes... I know the feeling," Luciano answers quietly. "Does you mother-?"

"Yes," Rafaela replies. She purses her lips and adds: "She blames you for it. Sorry."

"She likes to do that," Luciano replies with an honest tired sigh.

"She does,” Rafaela agrees.

Next time Martín comes to the kitchen for some ice, Luciano and Rafaela are laughing and chatting like they hadn't spent years hurting each other. Luciano can see his green eyes sparkle and his whole face brighten up when he sees them having a nice time together. He gives Luciano a wide shameless smile when Rafaela isn't looking and leaves the kitchen with such a triumphant walk, that Luciano has to shake his head to himself as he fights back a smirk.

Martín is going to be insufferably smug when the party is over.

 

 

It takes more time than he had initially planned, but Martín finally finds himself a nice little apartment near Rodrigo and Fernanda’s house.

While the kids play running around the new empty apartment, Luciano, Martín, Rodrigo and Fernanda unpack Martín's things. There’s really not much work to do; Martín had brought little with himself from Argentina.

While Fernanda and Rodrigo and put away the tableware at the kitchen, Luciano and Martín sit in the living room unpacking framed photos. Luciano smiles at the black and white pictures in his hands; a young Martín smiles back at him from the paper, bright and full of life and as handsome as Luciano knew he would be. It makes Luciano blush with fondness. He looks through his old school photos, and his compulsory military service ones, his years at medicine school, his graduation day, and picture by picture, he sees the young boy slowly turn into the elder man by his side.

His smile drops just slightly when he reaches Martín's wedding day.

Martín looks outstanding, with a wide smile across his face, his hair perfectly combed and wearing a suit that framed his tall lean figure elegantly. The sight of him, so young and oh so handsome, makes Luciano hold his breath as butterflies flutter inside his stomach. But Luciano's eyes soon dart to the woman clinging to his arm. She has a warm smile - Rodrigo's smile, he notices - across her thin dark lips, a couple of dark curls escaping her tight bun, and bright greyish eyes. Luciano stares at her, and when he looks up, he finds green attentive eyes locked on him.

Luciano escapes Martín's glance by looking back down to the picture in his hand.

"She’s..."

"Yes."

Camila. Martín's wife, the mother of his children. The woman who most likely would still be by his side if only fate had been a little kinder to him. A ghost Luciano suddenly feels like heavy chains tied around his neck.

He knows so little about this woman it's like she never existed. And Luciano can't decide whether that's good or bad.

"How did she pass away?"

Luciano has never asked, has never wanted to know.

"Cancer."

Luciano forces himself to look up and meet Martín eyes. The green, always so bright and so alight, have turned bleak.

"I'm sorry," Luciano says, wholeheartedly.

He knows it shouldn't, but it hurts to think of her. It hurts to think of Martín, so in love and so happy with her, by her side until she was gone where he could follow no more. It hurts to think that maybe if she was still here, things would have been different. That Martín belongs to him because she is gone, that his time with him is time stolen from her. To know that he doesn’t own all of Martín’s heart, for there’s a part she had taken with herself.

Martín gives him a small smile, and gently retrieves the photo from Luciano's hands. Luciano watches silently as Martín carefully puts the photos away in a box and closes the lid. He closes his eyes for a moment, and sighs. Then, he turns to Luciano, takes his face in his hands, and kisses his lips. The touch is barely that, and it leaves a knot in Luciano's throat.

"I don't want to dwell in the past anymore, Luciano," Martín says. "Neither should you."

Luciano sighs, and closes his eyes with a nod. He knows. He understands. He doesn’t want to cling to the past anymore either. Not when Martín is right here, right now.

A quiet gasp from the other room and the sound of glass crashing against the floor takes them back to the present. They rush to the room and find Fernanda standing still with wide eyes and broken glass shattered at her feet.

"What happened?" Martín asks as he looks around.

Fernanda blinks out of her stupor, and looks at them with wide eyes.

"I just broke water," she informs.

So they get Fernanda to Rodrigo’s car, and the eight of them rush to the hospital. Martín and Luciano take the kids to a park nearby to have some ice cream, and let Rodrigo keep Fernanda company as she’s in labour.

It's after some hours that Martín gets a call from Rodrigo to tell them that Fernanda and the baby are ok. A red-nosed puffy-eyed Rodrigo meets them in the waiting room to guide them to Fernanda's room. As he takes the kids to meet their new brother, Luciano stays behind, giving them a little privacy. He is surprised when Martín takes his hand firmly, and leads him to meet his newborn grandson.

When they get inside the room, the scene seems like some painting; Fernanda is sitting on the bed, exhausted and a little pale, her children sitting around her with their heads gathered around the small bundle of clothes against her chest.

"Kids, this is Mauro," Luciano hears Fernanda's soft tired voice whisper.

"He's ugly, mom," Isadora points wrinkling her small nose, only to get scolded by her older siblings.

Rodrigo stands by the door, silent new tears already rolling down his cheeks at the sight of all his family reunited. Martín curls an arms around his shoulders, and gently pulls his head down. Rodrigo lets him pull his head to his chest, and clings to him. Martín places a kiss to the side of his temples and murmur against his ear in a quiet Spanish Luciano doesn’t understand something that takes a sharp sob from his son.

Fernanda looks up, and smiles warmly at them. She calls for Rodrigo, who immediately rushes to her side and takes Mauro from her arms when she passes the small bundle to him. Martín is already stretching his arms to receive his grandson before Rodrigo is even near him.

A warm smile spreads across Luciano's lips as little Mauro cuddles closer to Martín's chest. Martín let's out a triumphant laugh when the baby looks up and they meet clear green eyes.

"I told you, he's a Hernández all right," he says with pride. "He’s going to be just like his grandad."

"God help us," Fernanda lets out a dramatic sigh with a roll of her eyes and a smile curving her lips as Rodrigo lets out what it’s something between a laugh and a sob.

Luciano laughs too, and looks down at little Mauro. He can't help to offer a finger to the baby, and smiles when the child curls his tiny warm hand around it.

"So, how did I do, coach?" Fernanda asks with a tired smile.

"He's beautiful, _Fernandinha_ ," Luciano answers.

Fernanda chuckles.

"He is, if I can say so myself," she replies proudly.

Fernanda and little Mauro are tired and need rest, and so they tell the kids. Rodrigo struggles between staying with his wife or taking his children home, and Martín has to shoo him away. He might have not delivered a child, but he is exhausted too, and needs some rest as well.

“It’s been a long day for all of us,” Martín tells him. “We’ll keep her company until visiting hours are over.”

So Rodrigo leaves, and takes the children with himself with the promise of coming back first thing in the morning. Fernanda is fast asleep, Mauro napping in her arms. Very carefully, Martín retrieves the child, and places him in his bassinet by his mother’s bed.

"Shh, _Maurito_ ," Martín coos at the baby when he protest in his sleep. "Sleep now. _Abuelo_ Tincho and _avô_ Lucho are here."

Luciano looks up at Martín in surprise, and receives a shameless smile from him.

"I thought you knew, it comes with the package," Martín whispers as he curls an arm around Luciano’s waist and pulls him close for a soft kiss.

“I should have read the small print of the contract,” Luciano teases, and hides his face on his neck.

He must be becoming a really old man, Luciano thinks, as tears pool in his eyes.

 

 

It takes them almost five years to finally decide moving in together.

It's a big step for Luciano, who has never actually shared a home with a partner. So Martín leaves his apartment behind and moves to Luciano’s house - under the condition they built a _parrilla_ in Luciano’s garden, of course.

Luciano is a little nervous with the arrangement; one thing is to date someone, and another very different thing is to live with someone. But he finds he likes the change a lot.

Holidays become more crowded, and Luciano finds himself worrying about eight more birthdays than usual per year, having to but at least five more gifts each Christmas, adding more dishes to the table whenever there’s a family reunion. Martín smiles apologetically at him.

“The cons of having a numerous family,” he says.

Which is fine. If those are the only cons Martín can think of, Luciano will gladly accept them. There’s nothing he would exchange for watching João, Camila and Diogo playing together outside, watching Amélia shyly ask Fernanda if she can hold little Mauro, for having Rafaela sit with them outside and share some _mates_ , or watching Martín pick little Isadora up and dance around the living room as his feet move to the tango he sings sweetly to his giggling granddaughter.

With time, he gets to meet Victoria and Pablo, Martín’s eldest children. Free-spirited Pablo looks just like a disheveled version of young Martín; tall and lanky, with long dark blonde hair, bright green eyes and golden stubble, they’re like two drops of water. But that's as far as their similarity goes; he has a carefree and air-headed air to him that hot-headed centred Martín lacks completely. Victoria, on the other hand, is all sharp angles and smart remarks; she doesn’t seem to appreciate her father much for some reason even Martín himself can’t fathom. It’s almost funny how of his three children, she strangely enough is the one that remind Luciano of Martín the most. She visits with her husband, a snobbish pale Englishman who Martín takes pleasure in torturing. Luciano had told him to quit it, but after some time spent with the stuck up man, he couldn't stop himself from joining Martín - the poor man was _asking_ to be teased.

Luciano's routine hasn't changed much since Martín moved in. He still coaches girls three times a week and goes to the bingo every sunday morning. He still does his gardening in the evenings when the sun is more forgiving, and he still takes Batata for a walk through the park every day. It's still the same, but Martín has brought new things to his life. Old sad tangos echo through the hall and a warm smile and soft warm lips welcome him whenever he gets home. Now his house is full of big old medicine books, and every sunday noon after the bingo his house is full of children and _asado_. Rounds of mate and chatting accompany his gardening, and now there's someone he can walk Batata with hand in hand.

Here and now, time becomes insignificant; as Martín entwines their fingers together and smiles at him with sparkling green eyes, Luciano blushes and feels like a silly teen boy falling in love for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ Thanks lovely Zu for beta-reading ♥


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